Rise
by SassyRaptor
Summary: Trish and Dez have a long trek ahead of them as they struggle to find their best friends and return home - where they're sure they will be safe. But just how safe can they truly be when death starts walking? Rated T for violence, violent descriptions, and language.
1. Hide

**New storyline! Multi-chaptered. Hope y'all enjoy it.**

**T-rated for eventual violence/violent descriptions and adult language.**

**You have been warned. :U**

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><p>"<em>Dez.<em>"

She isn't sure if the lack of a response from the redhead had to do with him not hearing her, or him ignoring her. The latter isn't all that usual for him. Sure, he'd forget things and would often not fully pay attention. Ignore her on _purpose? Something must be up_, she decides.

"_Dez!_" the curly-haired young woman repeats with more vehemence, reaching her hand across the table and pulling his plate of fries towards her. The freckled boy refuses to look up at her, his eyes trained on his hands fiddling with a loose string at the hem of his shirt. She takes a bite out of one of his fries.

_Had the breakup been that bad?_ Carrie _was_ his first love, sure. But it's been three months. And it's not like he did not see it coming. Dez never seemed the type who would be able to manage a long-distance relationship, what with how physically affectionate he is. He and Carrie had called off the relationship mutually, realizing that it wasn't working. He'd been taking it hard ever since, and gradually worse by the day.

Trish expels a heavy sigh. Even _she_ has to admit that she misses the loud and obnoxious Dez she has come to relatively put up with.

"Dez, come on. You're making Austin and Ally feel bad. They feel like they can't even act like a couple around you now. _And you're their number one supporter!_" she tries to reason with him. "I get that you're upset. It's fine that you still love her. You remember that advice you gave me a while back? _'If you love something, set it free?' _Dez – are you even listening to me?!"

He mutters something just barely audible. Trish squints her eyes, as if it would somehow help her understand him better. "What was that?" she asks, picking up another one of his fries.

"_I said_ I want my fries back." He pulls the plate back to his side. "Why didn't you just order your own, Trish?"

"You'd be paying for it anyway,_ and you know it._"

"Whatever. When are Austin and Ally getting back from their date?" His impatience with her is clear. It had always been the other way around. _He_ annoys _her. She_ gets irritated by _him._ This? This, she's not used to. She doesn't enjoy it, feeling like a nuisance to him. They used to get along – at least half the time. That never changed the fact that they are friends. _Best _friends, even. Although, perhaps she had expected too much if he's willing to throw all that away over a girl.

Not that she has an issue with Carrie. In fact, the two girls had become pretty close. Sure, Carrie may not have been the most _scholarly_ conversationalist, but they had gotten along alright. She seemed perfect enough for Dez; they certainly had plenty in common. Although Trish _had_ worried that their similar personalities and quirks, combined together, may end them in the hospital. They needed to be kept in check.

"Ally said they'd be back around seven. We've still got…" she trails off as she pulls out her phone to check the time. "Another hour or so." Austin and Ally had gone off to explore the beautiful city of Orlando, where the four of them decided to spend their vacation. Sight-seeing mostly; it really didn't matter what the couple did, though – they just enjoyed each other's company. With their particularly busy lives, balancing career with college classes, they hardly ever get chances to spend time together. They figured they deserved a day to themselves on this vacation.

Trish and Dez stayed back at the hotel today, figuring that they needed a day of relaxation after spending week experiencing the Walt Disney World resort. The two leave the hotel eventually, however, to grab some food at a nearby burger joint.

"_Great_," Dez huffs, sinking back in his chair. He looks off to the side, watching a smiling couple walk by – their hands clasped together. Trish frowns, her eyes still focusing on her friend across the table.

"Dez, is this about Carrie? Or are you upset with _me_?" She couldn't help asking. It's not like their friendship is meaningless to her – as much as she might lead people to believe so at times. She wishes more than anything that they would be able to hang out like they used to; their usual banter, the laughs, the antics…Even the snide remarks they threw at each other. _Even when he annoyed her beyond comprehension. _The good old days.

Perhaps those days will simply end up being fond memories? Nostalgia's the devil.

"_What?_" The redhead turns to face her, his voice and face softening as he notices the genuinely melancholy nature of her countenance. "I'm not upset with _you_, Trish," he consoles her. He's been oblivious to how his actions and attitude had been affecting his friends. Guilt weighing down on him, he pushes the fries back over to her across the table. "Here, I'm not hungry."

"Then why are you being like this? What did I do? What did _Austin and Ally_ do? We get that you're hurting – and we've been nothing, but supportive. _What's going on with you?_" she demands, aggression in her tone rising. Dez shrinks in his chair.

"I didn't realize I was being such a burden to you guys…" He rests his head on the table, proceeding to wallow in remorse and misery. Now she'd done it. Needing to appease him, she moves over to the chair by his side. She rubs his back, attempting to comfort him to the best of her abilities. It's not exactly something she's an expert at.

"You're _not_ a burden, Dez. We just want to help you feel better, but you need to work with us here," she assures to him softly – her belligerence fading away. He lifts his heavy head off the table, sitting up straight in his seat, eyes fixated on his hands again.

"It's not just Carrie, but that _is_ part of it. I just…It feels like I'm stuck. That I'm not going anywhere. I mean, I've been trying to get a foothold in the film industry, but I'm just not getting a break, y'know? Even after all the music videos I directed and edited for Austin, all I'm getting is a few low-grade freelance jobs here and there. And it's really sucky, gimmicky stuff, too." Shaking his head, he takes in a large quantity of air and exhales slowly before continuing on. "And ending my relationship with Carrie…The _one thing_ that gave me hope…It just broke me, I guess. Finding a girl like her, a girl I really liked who actually liked me back – that's not exactly easy to come by for me. _And you know that._"

Trish is at a loss for words, knowing that whatever advice she could possibly give him, Austin probably already gave him. She decides on the next best thing, something she's good at.

"C'mon, you doof. I'm sure _some_ girl will be dumb enough to wanna date you," she lightly punches his arm. "Now let's get outta here and go to the arcade or something. I'm sure that _Zaliens Attack_ game and all that sugary soda you're probably going to down within seconds will distract you _plenty._" Dez nods in agreement, some of the heaviness shifting off of him. Trish hops up onto her feet, grabs his hand and forcefully pulls him up onto his, then proceeds to drag him away.

"_Wait!_ My fries!" he proclaims, reaching one hand out towards them as he's being pulled in the opposite direction.

"Forget it, Freckles, we can buy more later."

"But–" Before another word could escape his lips, the call of what seems to be an emergency siren blares across the area. Trish releases Dez's hand to cover her ears, the sound much too loud for even her to handle. Dez mirrors her actions, watching as everyone around them runs about frantically, screaming. Just what was going on?

A loud boom echoes over the blaring alarm – distant, yet tremendous. Dez finds himself knocked down onto his hands and knees as folks rush by them, pushing and shoving.

Trish, hating the helplessness overcoming her at this moment, starts to force people out of her way. _No one shoves Trish de la Rosa around._ Between the flurry of bodies surrounding her, she spots something mighty peculiar in the distance for approximately two seconds. A figure of what seems to be a man, staggering as he walks. Why isn't he running like the rest of them? Is he injured? An unsettling feeling falls into the pit of her stomach. The horde of people gets denser and she loses sight of the man.

"_Trish!_" Dez cries out to her as he loses her in the crowd.

"_I'm right here!_" she replies from behind him. She grasps onto his arm, taking a seat next to him, trying to avoid getting trampled by the frenzied swarm about them. He pulls her closer towards him to get her out of the way of the rampage.

"What's going on?!" he attempts to shout over the alarm and the screams.

"Whatever it is, we should probably get outta here, like they all are!" she responds, just barely hearing him. As the crowd disperses and leaves them more room to move about, the two friends get back onto their feet and scope out the perimeter. The lurching man Trish had spotted earlier is now nowhere to be seen.

On the move now, they look about themselves, hoping to find some sort of refuge. Avoiding the masses of people is less of an issue now, as most of them had moved on ahead – though many cars stray behind, stuck in traffic. The drivers honk incessantly, trying to clear the area.

Trish and Dez proceed towards the nearest secure-looking building. This nearby club proves to appear a sound-enough safehouse, and with the bouncer nowhere in sight, they try their way in.

The sign posted above the entrance of _The Spot_ reads "closed". Dez acts quickly, fishing a bobby pin out of Trish's hair, receiving a glare from her. He dismisses her anger as he's more afraid for their safety now than he is of her. He puts his ear close to the lock as he maneuvers the pin around within the keyhole.

Click.

They sneak inside, shutting the doors behind them. Much to their surprise, no alarms go off. At least, not ones they can hear. It's Trish's turn to think on her feet.

"What are you doing?" Dez questions the girl as he watches her barricade the double-doors with whatever large pieces of movable furniture she can find.

"Shut up and hand me those chains over there!" she orders him. He complies, struggling to lift the heavy set of chains as he brings them over to her. Upon receiving them, Trish pulls them through the loops of the door handles, and then clicks the lock, connected to the chains, closed.

"Trish, that lock looks tricky - I don't think I can pick that one. And we don't have a key for it, either. What if we can't get out?"

"I'm more concerned with what can get _in_ if we don't," she admits as she checks the lock. The image of the limping figure relentlessly dominates her mind. Dez raises a brow at her.

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

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><p>"It appears that there's been an incident," states the voice over the AM radio station. "Our experts are looking into what could possibly be a nuclear attack. We are still unsure of the number of casualties. With everyone frantically trying to escape the vicinity, the military is having a difficult time getting through."<p>

"_Military?_" Dez gulps. "Are we under attack?"

"_Shush!_ I'm trying to hear." Trish clamps her hand over the boy's mouth.

"Wait, hold on! I've received a statement informing us that this was no attack, rather a possible experiment gone wrong," the reporter announces. Trish drops her hand from Dez's mouth once he's quieted down. "A local biological research lab has been blown apart. They're positive that the root of the explosion came from within the premises. There's a possible danger of something having escaped the lab, but we are not quite sure what – be – I – even…" Static.

"What the–?" Trish shakes her myTab, as if that would somehow fix the problem. "_What happened?_"

"There must be some interference," Dez infers, taking the myTab from her. He checks the settings. "Well, you're still connected to the Wi-Fi, so – wait, never mind…You just got disconnected."

"What the heck is happening?" She sinks in the seat of the sofa, trying to take it all in. She pulls out her phone and taps Ally's number on her list of recent calls. She hears the dial tone, running all the way until she hears Ally's voice. Alas, just her voicemail message. She tries again. No answer.

After a few more failed tries, and some attempted calls to Austin, her family, and various other contacts, she groans in frustration, tossing her phone aside. Dez's phone had already died earlier that day, so it'd prove useless.

"Damn it," she curses. "No luck. I don' know if the phone lines are dead or not; I'm still hearing the dial tone." A bang on the wall from the outside throws the two off guard. Trish flinches and Dez jumps onto her lap in fear, clinging onto her for safety.

They can hear the screaming and what appears to be rioting outside. Endless. As if on a loop.

"Get offa me, whack-a-doodle!" Trish rebukes him as she dumps him off of her lap. Dez jumps back onto the sofa beside her, pulling his knees in and wrapping his arms around them.

"I'm scared, Trish," he whimpers, rocking slightly to calm himself down.

"I'm sure it'll all be over soon. Pull yourself together, Dez!" she snaps at him. She scans the dark room, squinting her eyes in order to inspect it. They weren't able to get any of the lights to turn on, so their sole sources of illumination were the dying myTab, her phone – which will die eventually – and the soon-to-fade daylight coming in from the few windows near the high ceiling of the building. "There's _gotta_ be supplies in here."

"How long do you think we're gonna be stuck here?" he inquires, letting go of his legs and letting his feet fall back onto the ground.

"Like I said, probably not long. But we should stock up – _just in case._" She pushes herself up off of her seat and commences scavenging through the club. Dez follows suit, pulling Trish's phone out of her pocket and using its flashlight feature to assist them.

The roaring sounds of the herds of people outside the building continue for a while as they scavenge. It isn't until it reaches dead silence that the duo _really_ begin to fret.

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><p><em><strong>Wuh-oh. <strong>_

**Let me know what you guys think! Continue? Yay or nay?**

**-AJ**


	2. Realize

Trish stirs in her sleep, awakening slowly, but surely – completely disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. In her lucid state, she assumed that everything that she had experienced the day before must have been part of a dream. Of course, finding herself in the club, one she could have sworn that she had dreamt up, is enough to get her on edge.

And if that isn't enough, Dez is nowhere to be seen.

She sits up on the couch, tossing the tablecloth, which she had used as a makeshift blanket, aside. She turns her head to the empty sofa chair that her friend had fallen asleep on last night. The impression on the place he sat still fresh, she figures that he must have gotten up just recently. He couldn't have gotten far, now could he?

She slides off the couch, onto her feet, stretching out her torso. She pushes at the bottom of her back with her palms, straightening out her spine. With a couple cricks and cracks, some slightly misaligned vertebrae are popped back into place. It's a wonder she was able to fall asleep at all last night, the couch feeling as rugged as a boulder, _and_ just as stiff.

_Wait a second,_ she pauses as she gathers her thoughts. Sleep. She had fallen asleep. _Shit, _she curses internally, recalling what she had promised her friend the night before.

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><p><em>"Yeah, I'll keep watch now, Dez. You rest. I got this."<em>

"_Y-you sure, Trish? I-I…I don't know if I can even go to sleep. I'm scared."_

"_Just shut up and go to sleep, you doof!"_

"_Fine…"_

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><p>"<em>DEZ!<em>" she calls out to the boy, growing more and more perturbed by the eerie silence following the echo of her own voice. The very un-Dez-like silence. Certainly if he was scoping about, his clumsiness would lead to quite the cacophonous commotion, knowing just how he is. Especially when he's _trying_ his darndest to stay quiet.

Her heart rate speeding up by the second, not just at the thought of her own self being all alone in an uncertain situation – but, frankly, fearful for Dez's sake. The poor boy, as much as he enjoys playing "superhero", would never fare well in an actual combative situation. His inability to fend for himself resulted in Trish taking on the burden of that responsibility_. And she's already lost sight of him._

She calms her nerves by humming a tune; one of the songs her bestie had written for her when they were young. Ally's words always managed to somehow encourage her and help her feel at home.

_Ally…_Trish squints her eyes shut, praying internally for her best friend's safety. And for the safety of her friend, Austin, as well. Knowing them, they're probably looking after each other. Austin's strong enough, Ally's smart enough – _they must be okay_, she tries to reassure herself. And her family are the De La Rosas – as tough as she is. They'd be fine, as well, right?

"_Dez!_" she calls him once again. The continued silence sends sharp chills up her back. _Where the heck did that whack-a-doodle run off to without telling me?!_, she wonders, her mental raging on the verge of being released externally – her fear threatening to come alive as anger. It's the only way she would be able to deal with the situation, if she wishes to keep it together. Anger would save her.

"T-T-T-Trish?" her friend's quivering voice replies as he emerges from the men's room. "I-I was just in the b-b-b-bathroom." He wraps his arms around himself as he continues to shake. "The b-bathrooms here are _really _cold."

"You _idiot,_ you had me worried for nothing!" she rebukes him as she marches over to release her pent-up fury in the form of a shove. He loses his balance, but manages to catch himself before falling by grabbing onto the short girl's shoulders for support.

"But I had to _pee_," he explains with a pout. She pries his hands off of her, then drops them from her grasp.

"_I don't care._ You should've woken me up and told me you were going!" she crosses her arms and sits herself back on the couch. Dez takes a seat back on his sofa chair.

"Trish, you _saw_ something – _didn't you?_" He leans forward, resting his elbows in his lap. He scans his eyes over her irritable mug, looking for any clues as to what could possibly be going through her mind. "You're _scared._"

"I am _not._ And…I-I didn't see _anything_, you doof," she rebuts, lowering her eyes to cold, tiled floor. She picks up her feet and pulls them under her on the couch for warmth. Dez could practically feel the uncertainty reverberating through her otherwise commanding voice. He hoists his tired frame off of the chair and takes a seat next to her on the couch.

"Look, you have three different ways of calling me 'doof', okay? I know the differences between them," he begins to explain. "There's _you_ _doof_," he states, his tone caked in bitterness and annoyance. "You say it like that when you're irritable. Or maybe gassy." He scrunches his brows together, attempting to mock her facial expression, as well. Trish rolls her eyes. "Then there's, you _doof_," he coos, smoothly, a coy smirk upon his face. "You said it like that when you're trying to thank me or something, but you don't wanna actually say it. Or when I make you laugh. The _affectionate_ doof." Trish, eyes half-lid and her rage slowly growing, nudges him with her elbow.

"_Just get to the point!_" she urges.

"The way you just said 'you doof'," he continues, turning a deaf ear to her temper for the moment. "…That's the _nervous_ 'doof'. The _defensive_ 'doof'. The kind you use when you're _unsure. _The kind you use when you're _scared._" He rests a hand on her shoulder. "What are you afraid of? You know something I don't – _don't you?_" She raises a brow at him, scooting away on the couch. His hand drops from her shoulder in the process.

"The only thing that's scaring me right now is the fact that you pay _way_ too much attention to the way I say things, you _doof._"

"See!" He snaps his fingers. "That's the _angry_ one," he states smugly, pulling at his suspenders with pride. "I'm good at this." Upon releasing them, they snap back onto his chest. "O-ow." He rubs the stinging, afflicted area. Trish bursts into laughter, louder than she would have allowed herself if she could control it.

"You _doof_," she states between her giggles as her laughter dies down. Dez points to her.

"There – that's my favorite. The _affectionate_ one. Although, I gotta say, the _angry_ one _is _pretty funny." He lets out a light laugh. Trish pushes him, albeit playfully, off of the couch.

"You _really_ wanna know what I saw?" she asks, pulling him back up onto the couch by his arm. He nods, leaning forward towards her upon taking his seat again.

"Uh, _yeah._"

"You're not going to like it. You might not even believe it. Heck, I think I'm just going crazy."

"Well, I already knew _that_," he teases, his cocky smile returning. The second her eyes hit his with her signature glare, the smirk drops before it even has the chance to fully form.

"I…I think I saw…Well, the guy was limping. And I only saw him for a few seconds between all those people rushing by." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "He looked kinda sickly from what I could tell. I dunno. It creeped me out, but I didn't really get a good look–," she focuses her sight back up at him and finds his eyes enlarged, staring off beyond her.

"Z-zombie," he says softly, his voice sounding strained.

"Well, I don't know if that's what it was, Dez. But yeah, it kinda looked like it." Dez grabs hold of her upper arms. She could hear a strange, guttural sound coming from behind her – and the chills return, piercing their way up her spinal column.

"No, Trish." He forcibly turns her around to match her sight with where his own eyes had been. "_Zombie._" Her eyes had widened to mirror his, even prior to seeing the beast. The sounds it emitted had done plenty.

Zombies were supposed to look human, weren't they? _Too far gone_, Trish assumes. Sure, its body certainly replicated the look of a man, but the animalistic way it navigated forward, on all fours, made her question if it really ever was one. Its shoulder blades switch off, up and down, as the skeletal figure approaches them with puma-like movements. The thick, gurgling sound continues to spew through what was left of its mouth – jaw half-gone and its tongue flopped out to the side. The dark green-ish skin just barely coating the flesh-deprived body is translucent. The internal organs inside are visible, pulsating slowly within its bodily chambers. A being beyond one's most vivid nightmares. Those dark, hollow sockets where its eyes must have once been _– could it even see them?_

"_Holy shit!_" she screams out, unable to contain herself. Probably the worst possible thing to do with a creature whose hearing had probably been amped up through the lack of sight. It was bad enough that it probably already locked onto their scents. The creature stalks stealthily towards them, gaining speed as it maneuvers around the tables and chairs to reach the two.

_Weren't zombies supposed to be slow-moving?_

Dez's grip tightens on Trish's arms – frozen in a state of utter terror. Acting quickly, as it turns out Dez would not be able to do the same, she breaks his grasp on her and pulls him up off the couch. Her clasp on his arm fastens as she heads for the barricaded door. She releases her hold on her friend's arm and pushes the furniture out of the way as Dez stands idly – still paralyzed in horror.

"_You idiot!_ Help me out here!" she pleads, glancing back as the creature powers towards them. Its movement had slowed, as if assessing the situation. The anticipation made it all the worse.

"_DEZ!_" she cries out again, hoping to get through to him this time. He manages to snap out of his trance and grabs hold of the nearest blunt object he could find. A microphone stand. Trish snatches it out of his hands and directs him, "I'll take care of that…_Thing_. You pick the lock."

Dez gives her a slight nod, still finding it difficult to move. He reaches a trembling hand into his pocket, retrieving one of Trish's bobby pins that he had tucked away in there. His hands have trouble taking hold of the lock, his shaking only getting worse. Trish guards him from behind, hissing at the approaching creature. For the moment, it seems to back off. Dez fumbles with the pin, struggling to direct it into the keyhole of the lock – the creature's gurgling throwing him off all the more.

The skeletal figure draws closer to them, no longer intimidated by the curly-haired girl's snarls. She grinds her teeth, holding the mic stand out in front of her in a defensive position. "Hurry it up, Dez," she hisses at him between her teeth. Sucking in a deep breath, he pulls himself together and manages to get the pin in position.

Click.

At the sound of the lock's release, the ghoulish being launches itself at the girl with a raspy screech.

"_Trish!_" Dez shrieks, his voice heightening several octaves, turning around with his back against the door. He lets out a stream of air, relieved at the sight before him.

Trish had managed to position the mic stand just right, impaling the creature through its center. The rotting flesh must have been just tender enough.

However, being shish-kabobbed by the stand isn't enough to "kill" this undead being for good. It struggles to break free as Trish keeps her grip on the stand, lowering the creature to the ground, unable to hold it up for too long. It moves up further on the stand, sliding its corpse along the staff – closing in on the girl.

"Dez! _Do something!_ You're the zombie expert – how do we kill this thing?!" she demands, glancing back at her friend.

"Th-the b-b-brain. You g-g-got to decap-pitate it. O-or smash its head in," he stammers, his voice faltering. But that's just what he learned from movies, shows, and comic books. _Would it actually work?_

"Great. Now go find something to smash its head then, will ya? I can't hold it off that long." She pulls back to avoid the swing of its boney hands. The gurgling gets louder.

"You want m-_me_ to do it?" his eyelids gaping to their fullest, dilated pupils trying to take it all in. _This is happening. It's actually happening_, he urges himself to realize_._ Without even needing her to respond, he scopes the room for the best possible object.

"Dez, don't _make me_ ask again – or ugly here will be the _least_ of your problems," the fiery girl threatens, shoving the creature back down half the length of the stand with forceful kick.

Getting the feeling back in his feet, Dez moves swiftly towards the bar. He procures a few bottles off the shelves and rushes back over.

"Dez, I get that you're scared, but this _really_ isn't the time to be having a drink. I didn't even know you did," she comments, raising a brow at him – kicking the creature back again as it drew closer to her.

"I don't. I'm not even old enough, Trish," he rolls his eyes. "Besides, these are empty."

_Eye-rolling. Good. He's calming down_, Trish notices, hoping that it would last.

He picks up a bottle and aims carefully at the back of the creature's head. He pulls his arm back to swing, but freezes just before making any forward movement.

"Trish," he utters. "This is a person. _A human being._ What if they can be cured?" He drops his arm. "I can't just _kill_ someone."

"Dez, if I turn into a zombie cause you're too _chicken-shit_ to kill this one, you're gonna be the _first_ I go after – _you hear me?!_"

"But, _Trish…_" he starts.

Trish goes for another kick, however this time around, the creature had caught on. Its bony fingers latch onto her foot before impact. "_What the–?!_" she tries to pull away, but it clenches tighter, widening its partial-jaws over her ankle. "_DEZ!_" she pleads, her anger washed entirely away by sheer panic.

_SMASH._

Bottle one. The creature's turns its head around, now oozing darkened liquid from the skull. It lets out a violent screech at the redheaded boy.

_SMASH. _

Bottle two. With half its face now smash in, it releases its grip on Trish's leg. She backs up, still gripping onto the mic stand, just in case. The gurgling continues as it reaches a limb out towards the boy.

_SMASH. _

Bottle three. The beast goes limp. Dez moves in closer, poking at the creature's crushed skull with the remaining part of the bottle held in his hand. No movement. He tosses aside the broken bottle. Trish drops the stand, as well as a breath she did not realize she was holding in.

"Dez, I swear, if you _ever_ have second thoughts about saving my life again, I _will_ k–," she starts berating him, only to have the rest of her words muffled by his chest when he pulls her into his arms. She sighs, wrapping her own around his waist. Resting his head on hers, he sobs into his hair. She rubs his back, attempting to soothe him.

"_I'm sorry, Trish,_" he chokes out. "_I'm so sorry_."

"C'mon." She releases him, pushing him away. "We can't stay here." He nods, wiping his reddened eyes with his sleeve as he lumbers over to the main entrance. He pulls the lock off the chains, pocketing it for future use. Slipping the chains off of door handles, he turns to Trish.

"Go grab my backpack. It's next to the couch," he instructs her, sniffling as he tries to keep it together. "We should keep these chains, we could use them later." She does as told and retrieves the bag, taking the chains from him and stuffing them inside.

"I found some water bottles earlier, I'm gonna put them in, too." She collects them from the table she had set them down on earlier and packs them into the bag, on top of the chains.

"Any food?" he asks as he takes hold of one of the handles to the double-doored entrance.

"No. Couldn't find any. They must've cleared out the fridges. _Lucky us._"

"We should probably go find some, then. I'm _starving_."

"Open the door slowly. We need to check and see if the coast is clear," she advises as she zips up the bag. He nods silently, taking the bag from her with his free hand and swinging it over his shoulder. He pulls lightly and the door effortlessly cracks open, the blinding daylight piercing into the darkness of the club they had grown accustomed to. Squinting his eyes, Dez peers through, assessing their surroundings.

All is clear. All is quiet.

"Alright," he takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, still struggling to prevent himself from having a nervous breakdown. Uncertainty emanating from his voice, he asks, "…Let's go?"

"Let's."

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><p><strong>Yooooo, sorry 'bout the slow updates, guys. I'mma try and be better about it, please bear with me. XD<strong>

**Hope you like it thus far! :D**


	3. Confide

With weak steps, feet just barely planting themselves onto the ground, the lanky ginger stumbles in a rush towards the nearest waste bin. His shaking limbs attempt to lift the lid of the dumpster to no avail. He falls to his knees beside it, hands planted on the ground as he feels a mix of stomach acid, and possibly the remainder of the fries he had eaten the day before, rising up his esophagus. As the sour taste touches his mouth, he reflexively seals his lips for just a moment before letting the bile pour out.

The dark-haired girl rushes to his side, wincing at the sight, her nose wrinkling at the putrid smell. Hesitantly, she kneels beside him and begins rubbing his back. She isn't quite sure how it would help, but she recalls her parents doing so to her anytime she had the stomach flu. It had helped somehow.

_Parents. _Her face droops at the thought of them. She had tried to avoid any thoughts of her family and friends being in peril. Banishing the thoughts from her mind would be the only way she'd be able to survive…Whatever this is. She cannot let the thoughts cloud her mind. With a shake of her head, she urges her nauseous friend.

"Hurry it up, doof. We can't stay. The smell of your vomit might attract some attention." Upon seeing that he had finished releasing the contents of his stomach, she grips onto the back of his collar and pulls him up off the ground. She can hear the gurgling sounds already, aside from the sounds emanating from Dez's stomach. They're somewhat distant, however if the creatures move as fast as the one they had just witnessed earlier, distance would not be much of a comfort. The duo cannot afford to be detected.

"I-I can't…Tr-Trish, I. I ki-, _Trish…_" He stumbles over his words, shaking both body and voice. He leans down towards her and grips onto her shoulders for balance. "Tri-I k-kill. I. I _killed_ some-w-one," he tries to assert over the tears he's been choking back.

_Slap._

It had happened before she could even plan it. But what else could she do? He was losing his calm.

He raises a hand up to his reddened cheek and stares silently at her, his bright eyes wide with a cocktail of pain, shock, and slight terror. _The girl really knows how shut people up._

Trish exhales stiffly, immediate regret flooding her own eyes. She retracts her hand, putting it behind her back as if it would conceal the fact that it was _her _who had inflicted him.

"I'm sorry, Dez. But you can't be having a breakdown. _Not now._" She brings her hand back around to her front and holds it out to him – her weapon now her peace offering. He takes it without hesitance, nodding in silent agreement. She tightens her lips, taken aback by him forgiving her so promptly – trusting her wholeheartedly even after she had struck him. It eats away at a part of her.

"It's okay," he reassures. "You're right; I need to keep it together. You don't have to babysit me anymore, _I promise_." He smiles down at her innocently. Ephemeral the smile is, however, as the guttural groans grow louder still.

"They're close. _Let's get outta here,_" Trish whispers harshly, gripping onto his hand and pulling him along with her as she moves in the opposite direction of the growing clamor.

"Wait." Dez tugs at her hand abruptly, stopping them both. "You got any gum?"

"_What?_" Trish's demands quietly, her perplexed expression calling forth an explanation.

"_Gum._ Y'know, cause my breath smells like puke," he elaborates. She rolls her eyes up, mouthing the words 'help me' to no one in particular, before reaching into her pocket to procure what he asked for. _For the best, probably_, she decides, not wanting to have to deal with his bile-breath, either.

* * *

><p>"Trish, I'm <em>tired<em>," the boy whines, seating himself down on a crate set against a brick wall in the alleyway. He leans his back against the wall, the straps of his backpack hanging off his exhausted shoulders. "We've been on the move for hours and we didn't even eat anything. When are we gonna stop and find food?"

"Dez, it's only been _one_ hour. I think. And I just wanted to make sure we lost those…_Things._ Now, shush." She holds up a hand in front of her to silence him, then tilts her head to the side as she listens. She raises her brows at the sound of heavy, rapid breathing nearby – sounding nothing like the monsters they were trying to escape – before realizing that the wheezing had been coming from her friend.

"Dez, are you okay?" She rushes over to his side, grabbing hold of his arms. He nods, looking down at his fidgeting hands.

"Just felt another…Panic attack coming on. I got it under control, don't worry." He buries his face in his hands, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Trish releases him, but continues to observe with great concern.

"I think we lost them. We can start looking for food now," she obliges to his earlier request. "But, it'll be tricky…We can't just bust into any store, the alarms will go off – calling in every creeper within a five-mile radius, probably." He nods, hands still over his face. She hears his breathing steady itself. She pulls his backpack off of his shoulders, slinging it over her own. "I'll carry the bag. You look like you're gonna faint."

"Thanks, Trish," he drops his hands from his face. His watery eyes look up to her, redness surrounding them. He smiles appreciatively.

"Dez, you don't have to feel bad about what you had to do earlier. I mean…Besides, if you didn't, that thing woulda killed me. And you don't want _that_ on your conscience, either," she warns him, shifting the backpack around until it felt, at least, semi-comfortable. The chains within the bag feel substantially irritable to the girl, through the thin fabric. She wonders why Dez hadn't complained sooner.

"I know." He pauses, running a hand through his sweaty locks. "You're right. But, I mean, it was a _person,_ Trish."

"You need to _stop_ thinking like that, Dez. Even if it _wasn't _a zombie or whatever – if they're trying to kill you, you need to defend yourself. And sometimes that means killing _them_ before they do _you_ in," she continues, gripping him by the shoulders, once again, and shaking him lightly back and forth. She has to get through to him, _somehow_. He looks on over her shoulders, unphased by the shaking. "Dez, _are you listening to me?_" the girl demands.

"I hear voices." He pulls her arms down, releasing the hold she had on his shoulders, then rises from the crate. Following the voices, he starts down the alleyway, leaving Trish behind.

"_Wait, you doof!_" she whisper-yells, chasing after him.

He ignores her command and pushes on, towards the end of the alleyway. The top of a slide appears – and he presumes that it must be a playground. A stack of boxes block the view partially at the end of the alley, but getting around them would likely not be too much of a hassle. He peers over one of the shorter stacks, tension releasing from his body.

_People. _

Non-zombified _people._

Two men, specifically. One, a meek-looking fellow, with a build similar to his own, wearing a bandana in what looked like the US flag print. The dirt and grime makes it hard to be certain. His clothing – as rugged as the bandana. The other, a heftier man in a dark blue, pinstripe suit – small, dark stains scattered on the lower part of the coat, as well as the trousers. What looked like a pair of handcuffs dangles from his belt, along with an assortment of other things Dez cannot quite make out due to the distance. In his hands, the large man wields an equally-as-grand axe. _Lucky them,_ Dez notes. _The best we could find was a plastic butter knife. _

Eager to run up and introduce himself, he starts climbing over one of the smaller stacks of boxes, until he finds himself pulled back by a small, yet forceful, hand. "Wha-?!" he begins to shout out, before another hand clamps over his mouth. Trish, he infers from the scent of mint and eucalyptus – the unmistakable smell of her hand sanitizer.

"Shhh!" she silences him, and continues to rebuke him in sharp, hushed tones. "_What do you think you're doing?_ Did you not listen to what I said _at all?_"

"But Trish, they're _people,_" he rebuts, mimicking her tone. Trish releases him, moving towards the boxes to take a look for herself, pushing herself up on her toes to get a proper look. She points off to the side of a building, closest to the two men. She turns her head to face Dez.

"_Look,_" she orders him, turning her facing forward. He moves over to her side, his eyes following the path of her finger. "You see those there? Lying against the wall behind the guys?" she asks, nudging him with her shoulder. Dez squints his eyes to get a better look. Long, sleek-looking artillery lay against the building, with small boxes stacked around them – what he could only assume is ammo.

"_Guns?_" he asks, turning to face her.

"_Yes,_ you doof. Assault rifles. I mean, the axe, I understand…But an _AK-47?_ And what looks like some sorta M16? Now look at them – do they _look_ like they're wearing uniforms of any kind?" Dez glances at the two men, then turns back to her, shaking his head.

"_Exactly._ Everyone else is gone. Yet here these two guys are – staying behind with military-grade weapons and no uniforms. _Now doesn't that seem suspicious to you?_" she asks in more of a commanding rather than questioning tone. Dez shrugs.

"Maybe they're just luckier than us and found better weapons. You can't just _assume_, Trish," he argues, moving her aside so that he could proceed. He looks over the boxes as he lifts his leg up to begin the small climb over them. Upon doing so, he spots a third person down on his knees in front of the other two.

"Dez, you better–" Trish stops herself, mid-sentence, upon hearing a blubbering voice – someone clearly in tears.

"Please…I told you where I hid the stuff…I didn't mean to steal it – I didn't know it was your stash, _please…_" The man on the ground seems desperate, and Dez grows wary. Trish debates internally with herself, whether or not she should watch the scene or just pull her friend away.

"What do you think Ray? Should we let him off the hook?" the larger man consults his smaller partner.

"What? And just let all of his buddies think they can get away with stealing from us. No, I don't think so, Sam." Ray shakes his head, cracking his knuckles as he stares down the man on his knees before them. Dez pulls his leg back, continuing to watch the scene over the boxes. Trish joins beside him, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Please, _please don't do this…_I'll give you _anything!_" the sobbing man begs, leaning forward and touching his forehead to the ground in front of him, in prostration.

"Oh, now you're just making it _too_ easy for us." Ray signals to the larger man with a nod. Sam hoists up the axe, aims, and before the groveling man could look up again, gravity does the dirty work.

Dez falls backward onto the ground behind him, just before the axe hits its target. He winces upon hearing the sound of the impact, hoping that it would drown out the sound of his fall. Trish continues to stare at the scene. Even with all of the distrust she had built up from assessing the situation earlier, she would not have been able to predict _this._ She pries her eyes away from the gushing mess, staggering backwards and nearly tripping over Dez's form, now in fetal position on the ground.

With a huff, she pulls the boy to his feet, hoisting him up from the underarms. She tugs at his sleeve, jerking her head towards another path off their current alleyway. She proceeds towards it. Dez follows – wordlessly, without resistance.

* * *

><p>"Dez, <em>talk to me,<em>" Trish implores the boy, who had remained silent for the past half hour or so as they navigated their way through the alleys, in search of some means of sustenance. So unusual it is for him to stay as mute as he had been. After what they had just witnessed, she had expected another breakdown – but nothing. It is no secret to her that he had been doing everything in his power to suppress his emotions. _Which is good, right?_, she second-guesses herself. _What am I so worried about?_

After what seemed like an eternity, he speaks up, looking onward. "Trish…You see what I'm seeing?" She follows his line of sight, spotting the open door to what looked like the back of a restaurant.

"It's already open. Which means…No alarms, _right?_" he asks, turning to her – looking feeble and desperate, licking away at his chapped lips. She could hear his stomach growl, somehow causing hers to do the same. Before he could even manage to take a step towards the door, she blocks him with her hand.

"Not yet. There could be creepers in there. We can't just barge in – we need to _prepare._" She scopes the premises for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. She eyes a rusty pipe lined along the side of an ancient-esque building. Dropping the backpack, she heads on over. She crouches down, wraps her digits around the base and begins to pull. "Get over here, Dez!" she calls out. He rushes over and crouches behind her, positioning his hands just under hers on the pipe and his right foot on the wall, in order to gain more leverage. He pulls along with her, with whatever little strength he has left.

Eventually exhausted by the strain, Trish releases the pipe, her palms reddened and irritated as a result. She lays her head back onto her friend's chest. Dez continues pulling. The stubborn pipe remains, slightly loosened, perhaps, but overall – unmoved.

"Dez, leave it. It's not going to budge." The girl slinks her way out under his arms as he resumes, just as stubborn as the pipe. She notices the way his face had yellowed from weakness, and takes hold of his hands which continue to adamantly cling on to the piece of metal. She pries his hands away, digging her nails into them in order to get them to release.

"Yow!" he yelps out, rubbing the back of his hands. "Did you _have_ to use your nails?" Ignoring his cries of pain, she proceeds, hesitantly, towards a low window. With a deep breath, she positions her elbow up against the glass in the pane. She pulls it back as she steadies her breathing and closes her eyes.

"Trish, _what're you–?_" Before Dez can finish, the girl smashes her elbow through the pane, shattering the glass. She winces. _Not as easy as they make it seem in the movies._

"_Trish!_" the boy rushes to her aid. "_Why would you do that?!_ You're bleeding, _look!_" He takes her bare arm and plucks out the few pieces of glass that had been slightly lodged beneath her skin. Acting quickly, he uses one of the larger pieces of glass to help him tear some of the fabric off the bottom of his shirt. Wrapping the piece of cloth around her wound, he continues reprimanding her. "Trish_, are you thinking straight?_ Why would you do this to yourself? And you coulda set off some alarms, too!"

The girl pulls her arm away abruptly after Dez had just finished tying up the cloth-wrap around it. She bends down, picking up the two largest glass shards she could find.

"Now we got some semi-decent weapons," she states, handing off one the shards to him. "_You're welcome._"

"Wh–"

"–Remember, Dez. You see a creeper, you aim for the head. Kick it away to throw it off, then just–"

"–_Please_ don't pull anymore stunts like that. We don't have any proper bandages or ointments or anything. What if your cuts get _infected?_ I mean, I guess we can use your hand sanitizer…But what if tiny pieces of glass have already–?"

"–I'm _fine, _Dez. Now let's go get some food in you before you start hallucinating from hunger. Remember that one time? The whole thing with the goose?"

"_Don't remind me._" He sighs. "Alright, then. Ladies first." He gestures for her to start. She rolls her eyes.

"What a _gentleman,_" she snarks, coldly. She peeks in through the slightly-ajar door, leaning and listening in to check for any strange noises. Comforted by the silence, she kicks the door wide open and slips into the darkness. Dez scoops up his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he follows her in, much more cautiously than she.

"It's hard to see in here," he complains, scanning his eyes across the room.

"Your eyes will adjust. Pretty sure this is the kitchen. There's gotta be food around here somewhere…Check the top shelves and cupboards, I got the bottom cabinets." She proceeds excavating, gripping the glass shard in her hand, mildly slicing through the skin of her palm. It doesn't take long before Dez makes a find.

"I've got croutons and soup crackers here…Oh! And some…Jam?" He drops his backpack onto the ground, setting his glass shard down on the counter. He stuffs the two boxes and the jam jar into his bag, worrying about how crammed it's getting. "Hey, you think we can use these chains we got at the club as some sorta weapon? 'Cause I'm not sure what we could use them for."

"_Maybe…_You'll need to know how to wield them properly, though," Trish inputs, looking through the lower cabinets. "Let's see…Maraschino cherries…Peanuts…And here's some…" she frowns. "Pickles." _Ally._ Scenarios of her best friend in danger flash through her mind like a horror movie trailer. She shifts around uncomfortably on her knees.

"You okay, Trish?" Dez leans back, to get a better look at her.

"Yeah, I'll be – DEZ! _LOOK OUT!_" she shrieks in alarm as she sees the skeletal figure looming over the boy. Dez turns around and leans backwards, sliding his back against the lower cabinets and falling to the ground. The creature closes in, barely making a sound the whole time, its boney jaws opening and closing as it nears him. Dez reaches his hand up to grab his shard off the counter, only to retract it as the monster snaps at him, just barely missing his arm. Trish jumps on top of one of the counters in front of her and attempts to steer away its attention.

"_Hey, ugly!_" She waves her arms, beckoning the creature towards her. Now distracted, it turns its mug to face her – giving Dez just enough opportunity. He swipes his shard off the counter, hopping back up onto his feet. In one quick movement, he hammers the glass piece down onto the stalker's head. The creature struggles, jaws wide open as if screeching, but not the slightest noise escapes. Dez pushes the glass in deeper, piercing through the tender skull – gritting his teeth and trying his best not to look away. Trish jumps from counter to counter, rushing over to assist him.

The creature does not seem to want to give in and starts grabbing at him, just barely missing as Dez maneuvers his body away with each swipe. His hand remains in place, still gripping onto the remaining portion of the glass still sticking out. Trish joins him finally, taking her own piece and plunging it into the other side of the being's head. After a few more moments of struggling, clawing at them both, the stalker finally goes limp. The duo emit a simultaneous sigh of relief, pulling out their gooey shards and letting the corpse collapse onto the kitchen floor. Dez, shaking beyond control, collapses onto his knees beside it, releasing the shard from his hand.

Trish shakes her head, her mind flooding with doubt. _How am I supposed to watch this ginger twenty-four-seven?_ She kneels beside him, setting her own piece of glass down next to his, and engulfs him in an embrace. He nestles his head into the space between her neck and shoulder, trying to steady his breathing. She rubs his back, hoping to God that he would not have another fit. It's likely that they'll have to deal with much worse along the way, she presumes. How can she possibly manage to always be there to save him or calm him down?

He pulls away from her, rubbing his eyes. "That one w-was quiet," he stammers, setting his hands down in his lap. She can tell he's doing everything he can to remain stable. "Th-there are _quiet_ w-ones, Trish. We won't be able to hear the-em c-c-c-coming."

"Then we need to stay on full alert until we can find some sort of safehouse." She pushes herself back onto her feet, holding out a hand for him. He takes it, and she pulls him up off the floor. "Let's stuff as much as we can into your bag and get out of here."

"And maybe find another bag. We could use all the food we can carry." He procures a few more small boxes of assorted dry foods off of the counter and crams them into his bag.

"Dez…You know I can't always be there to protect you, _right?_ It's not that I won't _try_. Or that I don't _want_ to…It's just…" Trish trails off, looking down at her cut-up hands in shame.

"–I know. It's okay, Trish. Like I said, you don't have to babysit me." He gives her a weak smile, which she reciprocates with uncertainty.

* * *

><p><strong>Happy Valentine's day, everybody. <strong>

**Sorry for the wait. D:**

**I hope this chapter is to your liking!**

**-AJ**


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